EXEUNT IV: THE FOREST

Severus

I allowed the traces of the Dark Lord's insidious magic to pave the way for my magical travel. Without effort I appeared at his side. My eyes were still fully dilated from the dank interior of the Shrieking Shack, so I was able to take in my new location easily even though they were even more shrouded than the ones I had just left behind. When the Dark Lord had ordered me to follow him to the Forest, I had assumed he'd meant somewhere in the fringes of the trees, near the border of the school grounds. What I hadn't expected was to appear in a part of the woods so apparently recessed and remote, I didn't even recognise it.

The Dark Lord nodded at me curtly when he noted me at his side. He then sauntered away from me over the damp, leafy earth, Nagini still in her starry orb floating in the air after him as though tethered to the back of his robes by an invisible cord. The Dark Lord raised his wand and placed the tip of it against the curved hollow of his throat. While thunderously amplified words poured forth from his mouth, ordering his supporters to retreat to the Forest and instructing the castle defenders to tend to their dead and wounded, I glanced around curiously at my surroundings.

I was in some sort of clearing. The way that I could see none of the flashing spell-lights from the castle, which had been visible even at the distance of the Shrieking Shack a few seconds ago, made me guess I was further in the Forest than I'd ever dared to venture before. However, while that assumption would make it seem like I should be standing in trees so thick they were nearly impassable, the area stretching in a fifty foot radius around me was remarkably free of vegetation. The reason for this I discovered when I turned and saw what lay at the heart of the hollow. In its centre sat a vast, domed structure erected from fallen deadwood that was held together with ropes of spider silk as thick as my arm. Over the entire nest, that was undoubtedly only the entrance to a maze of chambers stretching far and wide into the earth, more layers of web crisscrossed to form a white, protective coating. This outer layer's silk was of a more gauzy consistency that appeared to glow in the fragile light cast by the hundreds of stars visible in the bare patch of sky above me. It was obvious to me now where that murderous horde of Acromantulas had come from.

The Dark Lord had finished speaking, thankfully, for my ears were still ringing, after goading Potter to appear here in the Forest, to stand before his adversary before an hour had passed. I hated to give him the credit, but the Dark Lord's wording had been brilliant. He knew as well as I that the only way to get Potter to leave the safety of the school was to threaten the lives of all others within if he remained. A part of me, the decent, paternal part, hoped Potter wouldn't be so naïve as to believe the Dark Lord's promises of mercy should he surrender himself; it was assured the Dark Lord would punish all of those who had stood against him tonight, whether Potter showed his face here or not. The other part of me, that part that had served Professor Dumbledore for years and even after his death, hoped Potter would live up to his irritating Gryffindor nerve and meet the Dark Lord's demands. I had to assume he was on his way at this very moment to view all of my gifted memories in the Pensieve. After seeing them, Potter would finally understand the horrible truth that the Dark Lord could never be defeated until he was felled by the Dark Lord's own hand. This ransom demand by the Dark Lord now seemed the perfect opportunity for his noble, necessary sacrifice. I only hoped Potter had completed his own mission for Professor Dumbledore before tonight.

Death Eaters began Apparating around me the moment the Dark Lord had concluded his speech. Most cast me a curious look before offering me a curt nod—I was the Dark Lord's unofficial second-in-command, after all, and mysteriously absent for most of the battle tonight—before giving a true deferential bow to their lord and master. As I watched each Death Eater report in, I suddenly thought to wonder how Narcissa and Lucius were supposed to get here, owing to the fact that neither one of them had a wand. The question was answered the moment it crossed my mind as Selwyn popped into view a few paces in front of me, his powerful arms linked with a Malfoy on either side of him. Selwyn shook himself free of his charges almost immediately and left the three of us behind after muttering, "Snape," at me in gruff greeting.

The Dark Lord, who had started dividing the newly arrived Death Eaters into patrols after lighting a towering bonfire near the edge of the nest, glanced at me over his shoulder when Selwyn strode over to receive his next assignment. He narrowed his glowing, red eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly at me before turning back to his task at hand. I think seeing the haughty irritation on Selwyn's face, at being used as an errand boy to retrieve the two wand-less Malfoys, reinforced the Dark Lord's conviction that at least one of the pair needed to be re-armed and rendered less of an inconvenience.

As soon as I could tell the Dark Lord's attention was once more fully diverted, I muttered to Narcissa, "I need a word." I motioned with one hand to a far corner of the spiders' giant nest. Narcissa visibly recoiled from the idea yet followed me nonetheless. I was grateful for it. The location I chose for this unfortunate conversation was perhaps insensitively macabre, but it had the benefit of being directly on the opposite side of the bonfire from the Dark Lord. The glare from the light along with the crackling roar of the flames as it consumed the boulder-sized heap of deadwood would help to shield the interaction from eavesdropping. To further protect us, I moved to stand on the other side of Narcissa once she'd crossed to the nest, shuddering and pulling her cloak edges closer together. With her back to the fire, and therefore to the Dark Lord, it would be impossible for him to read her expression should she be unable to control her emotions.

"What is it, Severus? Where's Draco?" Narcissa whispered.

I hesitated, feeling like I was being held in place by the questioning innocence of her clear, blue eyes, but then I dropped a hand into my pocket and pulled out her wand. I reached out and lifted her right hand. I noticed her hand was just as groomed and immaculate as the rest of her usually was, her nails lacquered with a clear gloss and sculpted to elongate her fingers. I turned her hand over and pressed her wand into her palm. Still unresistant to my actions, Narcissa allowed me to curl her fingers over the wand, so that my right hand enclosed hers with my left underneath supporting it. I squeezed her contracted fingers with gentle pressure as I looked deeply into her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. Narcissa continued to stare at me with complete incomprehension. The firelight was haloing her from behind, splashing the colours of a sunset across her pale hair.

"What are you talking about? Where's Draco?" she asked again. There wasn't even a trace of fear in her voice. She simply couldn't even comprehend the possibility of what I was trying to tell her.

I pursed my lips and risked a glance around. The fire blocked most of my line of sight towards the Dark Lord, but it appeared he was still deep in conversation with whichever Death Eaters needed more orders. Lucius continued to watch us from the side-lines. In his face I recognised a shadow of painful suspicion. He might have been easier to break the news to, I realised now, but he hadn't been an option. It was Narcissa to whom I'd been instructed to return the wand.

I returned my attention to her and stated quietly. "He is gone. It was swift, and there was no pain." I squeezed her hand between mine again, even harder this time, and repeated with added emphasis, "I am so sorry."

Finally something registered in her mind, something that made her notice every other Death Eater she knew was gathered here, including me, who was supposed to be watching over her son. The only people not present were those who were dead. Narcissa reached up her free hand to press it on top of mine, still holding her other tightly. Her nails dug into the skin near the top of my wrist painfully.

"Severus?" she asked in small voice, like a little girl. I finally heard the terror there, the heart-wrenching tinge of panic that was begging me, along with her glistening, staring eyes, to tell her that this sudden waking nightmare wasn't true.

"I'm sorry," I whispered one final time before pulling myself free from her. She did not let me go easily. Her nails raked four long gashes across the top of my right hand, but I ignored the sting. I knew she'd been holding onto me like a handful of physical hope, and I'd just cruelly wrenched that away. Unfortunately I didn't have any other choice. I had already risked much by telling her anything at all.

As I approached Lucius on my way back to the Dark Lord's side, he stammered quietly, "Severus, wh … what …?"

"Go to your wife," I commanded out of the corner of my mouth. Lucius hastened to obey me, stumbling over the uneven ground. I glanced back over my shoulder to see Narcissa was still standing the way I'd left her, with her right hand outstretched and gripping her wand around the middle as though offering it up to some sort of invisible entity. I hoped the shock of my news along with the terror of still having the Dark Lord's displeasure would keep her from losing her composure, at least until this night was finally through.

I withdrew my own wand and healed the scratches on my hand discreetly before coming up on the Dark Lord's right side. Bellatrix was already there, attending on his left with her hooded eyes open wide as though trying to consume the sight of him with her dark irises as her ears soaked up every word the Dark Lord was saying to Dolohov and Yaxley in front of him. Her gaze narrowed momentarily in irritation as she saw me approach, but she didn't dare to throw any taunts or snide remarks my way. She knew I was the Dark Lord's right hand, as she was his left. Both of us were integral to his ultimate success despite our less than cordial personal feelings towards each other. As I waited calmly for the Dark Lord to finish dictating patrol instructions to the other two men, I took one final glance back at Narcissa. She still hadn't moved, though Lucius now had his arm wrapped around her shoulder, also with his back to me. Bellatrix continued to stand, much less patiently, fidgeting with the torn sleeves of her robes or passing her wand back and forth from one hand to the other. She hadn't bothered to clean herself up as many of the other Death Eaters were now doing. She seemed to wear her bloodied lip and tangled hair as proof of her war victories. Watching her out of the corner of my eye, I pondered how much easier Draco's death would have been for everyone else if he'd been her child instead of her sister's. It wasn't hard to imagine Bellatrix offering up her only son willingly to the Dark Lord for sacrifice.

Dolohov and Yaxley bowed and departed into the pitch wilderness around the clearing. Bellatrix opened her mouth to speak but was forced to continue her silence when the Dark Lord turned his straight back to her to address me instead. Over his shoulder, Bellatrix shot a scathing glare at me, full of puerile indignation as though I'd just jumped ahead of her in a line for pudding.

"I trust you have handled everything, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked me with the lightness of a genial host putting the final touches on a dinner party. His supposed ascension to being true master of the Elder Wand had put him in a better mood than I'd seen him in all year.

"I have, my Lord," I said simply.

"Good. Nothing can stand in my way now. When I face the boy in less than an hour's time, it will be for the last time."

"Forgive me, but will he be able to find you all the way in here, my Lord? I confess I myself have never dared to venture so deep into the Forest."

"Where I am is immaterial. Wherever I go, the boy will find me. Our destinies have been linked since long ago. The boy cannot fail to find me just as he cannot hope to escape me."

I found the Dark Lord's confidence rather ironic. I had to agree that Potter couldn't fail to find the Dark Lord wherever he went, since that had been demonstrated only a few minutes ago. I still found it bleakly amusing, though, how the Dark Lord seemed as sure as Professor Dumbledore had been that he and Potter shared some sort of link, but he had been completely unable to sense the boy's presence a mere few feet away from him in the Shack.

"No one will ever question your right to rule again, my Lord," I said with feigned earnest. "The others were utter fools to place all their hopes in a child. When he is dead, they will have no one else to turn to but you."

"I could not have done it without you, Severus. You alone of all my followers have never once failed me. When the sun rises on Potter's corpse, you will be rewarded beyond your greatest imagining."

The Dark Lord did the unimaginable himself then and reached out to place a hand on my shoulder. Bellatrix gasped audibly behind him; as far as any of us knew, she had been the only one to ever receive a physical touch from the Dark Lord before. She wasn't the only one to notice. A chorus of mutters from the others gathered around the hollow hummed above the crackle of the bonfire. Even through the leather of my armour and worsted wool of my cloak, I still felt the icy coldness of his skin seep into the bones of my shoulder and clavicle.

"Thank you, my Lord," I said, not breaking his intense, fiery stare. "I have always strived to be your most faithful servant." The Dark Lord squeezed my shoulder more tightly, a sensation akin to being seized by a gauntlet made of ice, before he released me. My own body heat immediately began to try and restore warmth to the area, causing a burning ache to throb along my shoulder and radiate down through my bicep. The Dark Lord turned away from me, with a careless gesture to the side dismissing me, to finally give Bellatrix her desired full attention.

"My Lord, I have done it!" she gushed instantly, her voice a breathy moan as though she were physically aroused. It wasn't unlikely that she actually was, I considered with revulsion, as I stepped closer to the bonfire to help restore complete feeling to my skin.

"I have killed Nymphadora Tonks, pruned away that diseased limb of our noble Black family tree, just as you wished me to!" I could see out of the corner of my eye, as I held my hands out to the dancing flames, that Bellatrix was leaning in as close as she dared to the Dark Lord, most likely hoping to receive the same honour I had.

My heart sunk further as I turned my eyes back to the white and orange embers and heard the Dark Lord declare, "You have done well, Bellatrix. Dolohov informed me he also put down her husband, Lupin, like the dog he was."

Lupin and Tonks, both dead. I hadn't allowed myself to even consider for a moment who out of my former allies had fallen that night. There hadn't been time, and any distraction for me could have been fatal. But now as I stood here idly, knowing the battle at the castle was halted and casualties were being totalled at that very moment, I wondered who else was gone. Had Filius won his duel with Yaxley after all? Had Kingsley survived, after my duel with him? Tonks had been just as qualified an Auror, and she hadn't been able to make it out alive. If such experienced witches and wizards had perished, how much hope was there, really, for my still-unqualified, seventh-year students? Had my attempts to keep them safe from harm over the past year been for nothing in the end?

My dismal musings were interrupted by a familiar sound of smashing and chattering from deeper in the Forest. Almost every Death Eater, including me, raised their wands as they turned towards the patch of overgrown wilderness from which the noise of an untold number of enormous beasts on the move was coming. Apparently the Acromantulas were on their way back home.

The Dark Lord cut off Bellatrix's highly detailed recount of each duel she'd participated in that night to say to his gathered followers, "At ease." Only about half of them lowered their wands completely. The rest dipped their tips a few inches, perhaps, but remained on their guard. The Dark Lord swept out a silk-swathed arm to motion for Bellatrix to step aside as he withdrew the Elder Wand from a fold in his robe near his breast. Bellatrix fell back with visible disappointment, robbed of her opportunity for further ingratiation and potential tactile reward.

Within moments the Dark Lord stood alone against a swarm of murderous, giant arachnids that stood ten across and who knew how many deep. Now that their brutish advancement through the underbrush had halted, separate from the waves of angry-sounding clacking and hissing—that sounded disturbingly like muttered words at some points—another noise could be heard: a low moaning that was undeniably human.

"I am afraid, my eight-legged comrades, that I must commandeer your lair for a short while. You are welcome to return in the morning, but until then you will have to amuse yourselves elsewhere," the Dark Lord stated calmly to the stirred-up horde. One of the "smaller" spiders on the fringes did not appear to like this idea and broke free from the line to charge at the Dark Lord with astonishing speed. Just as quickly, the Dark Lord whipped his wand to the side with a flash of green that stung the eyes in the dark night. When my sight cleared after a few seconds, I saw the spider dead on its back with its legs already curling into its hairy abdomen with rigor. The irritated clicking of the other Acromantulas chittered louder for a moment.

"I know the rest of you are far too intelligent to try anything else like that. You will leave your prey here and remove yourselves for now. If Lord Voldemort can provide for his people, he certainly can provide for those noble beasts who serve him obediently as well." The Dark Lord took a few menacing steps closer to the tree line. The spiders finally realised their brute strength was for once not enough and retreated back into the trees with surprising quiet and orderliness. In their wake, a giant, unconscious body was left behind on the gnarled ground.

"Ah, a hostage is always welcome, and even more valuable, one who is a Hogwarts professor." The Dark Lord accentuated the last word with delighted scorn, drawing disparaging laughs from most of his congregation. It was obvious from his size alone that the prone victim was Hagrid.

"Rowle, Selwyn, restrain him," the Dark Lord ordered. The two Death Eaters, arguably the Dark Lord's largest besides Fenrir, who wasn't even a true Death Eater at all, stepped forward with their wands out. A few coordinated sweeps had Hagrid drawn to his feet out of the mud, his great, bushy head lolling over his barrelled chest, and bound firmly against an ancient oak even broader than him.

The Dark Lord studied the half-giant with a mixture of disgust and contempt on his flat face. Hagrid seemed to be floating in and out of consciousness, his intermittent half-wakeful moments punctuated with pained groans.

"I think our oversized guest might have finally discovered that monsters do not make for good companions. It would be bothersome to have him die, after I took the trouble to rescue him from his own folly. Tend to him, Severus. Surely you must know the best remedy for an overdose of paralysis venom."

"At once, my Lord," I said, already conjuring an antidote from my personal potion stores into my hand. The Dark Lord nodded at me in approval then moved away to speak to others on the opposite side of the clearing. Bellatrix trailed after him like she was bound to him by a spell, the same as Nagini. I noticed with relief that both Narcissa and Lucius instinctually, though discreetly, were moving themselves away from the area the Dark Lord was descending on.

Hagrid's arms were far out of my reach, trussed up in the air above his head, so I reached a hand under his bushy beard and probed the skin around his thick neck. When I finally located a pulse with effort, it was thready. His breathing sounded just as dangerously shallow and rapid, and the damp slick of hot sweat under my fingers wasn't a good sign either. He'd obviously been bitten by one of the Acromantulas, perhaps even several more. His natural size and resistance would have made him harder for the spiders to subdue and therefore require more of their venom to be rendered completely paralysed. Such doses in a normal man would have killed him instantly. As it was, I didn't doubt that had the swarm not stumbled upon us, Hagrid would have been dead before the spiders even had a chance to wrap him up properly in a web.

Since Hagrid appeared in no shape to drink an antidote voluntarily, I conjured an eye-dropper into my other hand and used it to dribble several ounces of potion in between his drooping lips. I pushed his head back with a hand under his chin to force him to swallow it. The effect was almost immediately apparent. Hagrid's feverish groans soon turned into slurred words of protest as his beetle-black eyes cracked open and tried to focus. I used my wand to bring him back to full consciousness. After looking around the clearing in confusion and straining for a minute against his bonds to take a fuller breath, Hagrid focused his gaze on the only thing he could make out clearly: me.

"You!" he snarled and struggled more forcefully at the ropes holding him back.

"You're in no condition to be fighting, Hagrid," I said quietly and with a hint of the true concern I felt. "You can't escape, so you might as well rest as best you can. You've been poisoned by the Acromantulas. I need to further assess your condition now that you've awakened." I reached out slowly for the side of Hagrid's neck again, but he spat at my feet before I could make contact. I stepped aside deftly to avoid the mixture of saliva, potion, and blood.

"Yeh keep yer bloody hands off me, yeh filthy traitor!" Hagrid declared fiercely. "I can' believe Dumbledore ever trusted yeh. I can' believe I ever trusted yeh! Look at yeh now," he said, crinkling his ruddy face to sneer at my Death Eater robes. "Not even tryin' ter pretend anymore, are yeh?"

I probably should have at least struck him for his insolence, to keep up the appearance of being a Death Eater, who just had his honour slighted. However, the sorry state Hagrid was in physically on top of how he dissolved into blubbering tears the moment he'd finished insulting me made me have no heart for the charade. A quick glance around me showed no one was paying us any attention anyway. Keeping watch of the shadows to be the first to spot Potter was far more interesting to the Death Eaters than watching me administer medical care to a half-breed oaf, in their minds.

I let Hagrid cry for a minute before approaching him again. It was obvious listening to how laborious it was for him to muster enough breath to sob that he was still not out of the woods yet, figuratively speaking.

"You have to let me heal you. You're no good to anyone dead, on either side," I said quietly in between Hagrid's shuddering wails.

"Jus' do me a favour and lemme die. Who wants ter live in a world run by you lot, anyway? No one'd care if I died now, includin' me." Hagrid dropped his hairy chin back onto his chest and grew silent and still so suddenly I feared he'd passed out again. However, going right to him and looking up into his face, I saw his eyes were open, though they were unfocused from despair.

With one more furtive glance around to ensure no one was still paying us any heed, I whispered with vehemence, "I would care. Avrille would care. Potter would care. Potter's not dead yet. You have no right to die while that boy's still in danger. You know I can't protect him anymore."

Hagrid's black eyes focused on me again, and I saw many things in them; mainly confusion, though there was a glint of suspicious hope.

"Snape, what are yeh …" Hagrid muttered, but I cut him off.

"Drink the potion," I said more loudly for the benefit of those around us and shoving the vial up under his nose, "The Dark Lord wants you alive as a witness to his final triumph. Drink it, or I'll force it into you."

Still squinting at me with wariness, the visible skin of his face a mass of dirt-caked wrinkles, Hagrid parted his mouth and allowed me to tip the remainder of the antidote in. The moment I heard him swallow it, I turned and strode away from him before he could question me further.

I made sure to stay away from both Hagrid and the Malfoys for the remainder of that long hour. As I stood on the outskirts of the hollow, sweeping my gaze over the empty space around me, occasionally I would lock eyes with Narcissa, doing the the same thing. Each time I knew she wanted to come to me and beg for more information, but the presence of the Dark Lord standing in front of the spiders' nest with his head bowed kept her from being quite that daring.

It had felt like another entire night before Potter finally appeared to face his end. By then I was more than exhausted. Every muscle in my body was aching from sleep deprivation along with the various abuses they had suffered over the past twelve hours. My mind had remained clear from force of habit, but I knew very shortly I could begin suffering from brief lapses in concentration. When those lapses inevitably started, it would be that much harder to maintain my unbreakable Occlumency, as well as keep my thoughts a safe distance away from the yearning always buried deep inside me for my wife and son.

But Potter did come, just as the Dark Lord had said he would, and just as Professor Dumbledore had hoped he would, though nearly at the last minute. The Dark Lord himself had just barely finished speaking his own regret that he had miscalculated, and suddenly the boy was there, stepping from the safety of the dark trees with his hands hanging wand-less at his side. His appearance caused an uproar from most of the Death Eaters gathered in the hollow, along with the pair of giants who had stumbled along to join them only a quarter of an hour ago. Laughter, shouts of victory, roars of triumph, and cruel words deriding Potter echoed through the Forest clearing, that was ever so slowly lightening from black to a charcoal grey. Dawn would soon be at hand.

I did not lend my voice to the exaltation of the others, just as how I had not celebrated the destruction of Hogwarts's gates. Even to maintain my cover, I could not rejoice at the imminent death of a child. I was also stunned into silence for another reason, though I wasn't sure if it was a merely figment born from my depleted physical, mental, and emotional reserves; I could have sworn for just a moment, I saw Lily standing on the edge of the Forest behind a tree, watching both her son and me. As I shifted my weight to the other foot to try and see around the trunk, the apparition had vanished.

Both Potter and the Dark Lord waited with astounding patience until the cacophony around them started to settle. I wondered as I had before how the Dark Lord had not been able to sense Potter's presence until the boy revealed himself. Perhaps whatever thread of ancient magic connected them rendered them too much alike and therefore indistinguishable from each other.

Potter forced a few steps further into the hollow; I could tell from the stiffness of his limbs, usually so irritatingly fluid during Quidditch matches, that the entirety of his Gryffindor bravery was being utilised at that moment to simply make himself advance. Before he stopped a dozen paces before the Dark Lord, Potter turned his green eyes to the side and looked at me. Even all the way on the other side of the clearing from him, it was easy for me to see for sure then. Potter had never been very good at concealing anything from me. His presence here alone was a definite indication, but within that split second that we held each other's gaze, Potter confirmed to me silently that he had viewed my memories, where I had more-or-less condemned him to die, and he had accepted it.

As soon as Potter focused his attention back on the Dark Lord, guilt more onerous than any I'd ever felt before crushed me beneath it. It was worse than the times I had cursed my decisions, over the years, that had resulted in Avrille's and Char's lives being put in danger; it was even worse than the moments I had realised my poor choices had caused both the deaths of Lily and Draco. There was nothing comparable to the regret I felt now. As I watched the skinny, spectacled boy face Death head-on with more valour than the Dark Lord could ever begin to conceive of, Professor Dumbledore's words from one of our last conversations came back to me.

"But this is touching, Severus," he had said, almost mocking me for the indignation I'd expressed when I'd learned he had apparently been grooming Potter to die for him when it best suited his grand plan, "Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?"

I had replied with some choice words, drenched in my usual sarcasm to cover up how his own apparent disbelief of my compassion regarding Potter had cut me deeply. It was true I didn't care for the boy personally, though becoming a father had forced me to feel slightly less virulently hateful towards him.

What had hurt the most about Professor Dumbledore's revelation had been his uncharacteristic callousness as he spoke of destroying the boy, and through him the original seed of my redemption. Until I'd met and fallen in love with Avrille, protecting Lily's son to atone for my responsibility in her death had been one of the only positive things in my life. It was a concrete act I could focus on, to prove to the world, even though my actions remained mostly secret, that I was a changed man, a man filled with true remorse for my past transgressions. So though I did not care for Potter in the same way I'd grown to believe Professor Dumbledore did, his continued existence was still something very personal for me. It had taken me many, many months after Professor Dumbledore's death to come to terms with being used by him as just another tool in his kit to kill the Dark Lord. I still wasn't sure if I'd ever completely forgiven him.

But now my part in Professor Dumbledore's magnum opus was completely finished. As much as it had disgusted me to do so, I had fulfilled his orders and arranged for Potter to be killed willingly by the Dark Lord's own hand. I waited as tense as the true Death Eaters beside me. I have never been a religious man by any means, but right then I prayed. As Potter stared down the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord raised the Elder Wand to point it at the helpless teenager before him, I prayed desperately to whomever might be listening, begging that somehow Potter might survive. Please, just let Professor Dumbledore have known something else, something he couldn't risk telling me, like all of the other secrets he intentionally hid, something that would protect Potter and save him, like Lily's ultimate act of maternal love had years ago.

Something, please, anything—

"Avada Kedavra!" the Dark Lord thundered, for the second time that night.

This time, however, I did not close my eyes. I watched in silent horror as Potter's body was flung clear across the clearing and came to rest on its stomach, motionless and with the head turned away from me, just as Draco's had in the Shrieking Shack. He didn't move.

My attention was snapped back to the Dark Lord, however, from a shriek of terror from Bellatrix. She was on her knees at the Dark Lord's side, he having being thrown onto his own back from some sort of kickback from his killing curse. Though perhaps slightly shaken by the intensity of the moment and the unexpectedness of the fall, the Dark Lord appeared completely unharmed. I released a held breath slowly. Perhaps that split moment of altered consciousness on the Dark Lord's part had been enough. Maybe that was all that had been required to make Potter's sacrifice worth it all.

The Dark Lord snarled viciously at Bellatrix for her attempts to help him to his feet. No one had dared venture near Potter yet to determine if he was truly dead. When no one volunteered for the grisly task, the Dark Lord ordered Narcissa to check the boy for signs of life with a cruel, painful sting of his wand.

Narcissa had to cross the entire clearing to approach where Potter's body lay. Of anyone, I'd been the closest to it. I don't know why her chose her, perhaps simply because of irritation with her sister. But for whatever reason, Narcissa was the one to first touch Potter after his suicide-by-proxy.

Narcissa knelt on the cold ground beside Potter's shoulders, her back to most of the assembly, who had mainly retreated to cluster near the Dark Lord after he had recovered his composure. I alone remained where I'd been standing before the confrontation had begun, and I alone witnessed the strange thing Narcissa did next. With her blonde hair, the exact same shade as her son's, cascading down like a tumble of white satin over her shoulder, Narcissa held her face close enough to Potter's to kiss him as her hand felt his neck for a pulse. I don't know if my eyes tricked me again in the near-dawn twilight, for I certainly didn't hear anything, but I swear I saw Narcissa's lips move, whispering words into the dead boy's ear. Perhaps it had only been a short prayer of her own, from a mother who feared she had just lost her son, who was almost exactly the same age as this boy at her knees. But even as Narcissa climbed shakily to her feet and pronounced Potter as dead, I retained a stubborn prickling of hope. I had never known Narcissa to be very pious either, but then why else would she have whispered to someone who was dead?

Resounding victory cries louder than anything I'd heard that night went out with the news. Hagrid's baleful holler of anguish was nearly drowned out by them. The Dark Lord lent his own cold, hysterical laughter to the tumult. The sound stabbed my eardrums like an ice-pick, though I was careful to applaud with the others and force a triumphant smirk onto my face. I kept up the purposeful clapping of my hands when my trace of hope was dashed to pieces by the Dark Lord inflicting the Cruciatus Curse on what I now knew for sure to be Potter's corpse; there was no way the boy could ever have had the self-control to play dead through torture. No, now it was certain. Potter was gone.

I felt like I was floating through an otherworldly haze as I followed the victory procession out of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid led the way unwillingly, Potter's thin body cradled carefully in his giant arms. The professor hadn't spared a single look for me since Potter's death. He was probably cursing himself for entertaining the thought of being able to trust me again. The Dark Lord followed with Bellatrix at his side, on his right side, to be more precise. I'd been happy to let Bellatrix have the honour of the moment. I'd hung back, bringing up the rear with Narcissa and Lucius. None of us felt much like celebrating, but we were careful to each put forth the façade of celebration, at least when someone was looking. For my part, I wished I'd been allowed to don my Death Eater mask once more; I was not looking forward to facing all of the defenders of Hogwarts once the Dark Lord laid Potter down dead at their feet. However, the Dark Lord had forbade the wearing of masks when he saw me and several others move to put them back on. He insisted there was no longer any need to hide our identities. He wanted us to descend on the castle with pride, fully recognisable as the conquering princes we were.

I am ashamed to admit at that point I had given up all hope. From everything I witnessed next, from the scream of disbelief from Minerva that broke my heart when she saw Potter's body to the stupid, wasteful bravado of Neville Longbottom as he stepped forward to publicly denounce the Dark Lord with his last breath, it all seemed over. The Dark Lord had won. One guilty bit of relief comforted me, though. Even though it meant they would soon be in danger again, at least now Avrille and Char would be back home with me soon. The Dark Lord had given them one more year in Nova Scotia, and that year was almost up. If I had to live out the rest of my life pretending to be a Death Eater to keep my family alive, at least I would be doing it with them at my side.

As I watched with apathetic detachment resulting from all-encompassing

exhaustion as the Dark Lord placed the Sorting Hat on Longbottom's head and set it on fire to burn him alive, the back of my mind wondered what Avrille would say if she were here right now. Besides spewing out strings of four-letter words at the unfairness and unsurpassable evil of it all, I knew she would chastise me for my loss of faith. After all, she hadn't been a first-hand witness to the darker side of Professor Dumbledore's methodical mind. In her innocence, she would find it very hard to believe that Professor Dumbledore would offer up Potter's life in an attempt to defeat the Dark Lord. She would question if all of this wasn't still part of his plan.

Amazingly, it wasn't the roar and thunder of duelling giants, or the pounding onslaught of the charging centaur army that snapped my attention back to the scene in front of me. It was the shine of silver and rubies … the sword of Gryffindor! The sword that Professor Dumbledore himself had ordered me to deliver to Potter!

Of course, Severus, you dunderheaded half-wit! There is still something you can do!

In my fog of despair, I'd forgotten that I was one of only two people who were currently able to converse with the dead headmaster. Minerva, most likely acting-headmistress since I'd abandoned my post, would also be able to enter Professor Dumbledore's office, but she wouldn't see any reason to slip away and go speak to his portrait right now. He had never included her in the finer details of his schemes. But me … perhaps that was yet another untold aspect of his plans for me that he never revealed. Just as how he had possibly arranged for me to kill him so I could inherit his Elder Wand, maybe he also wanted me headmaster of his school so I could be directly on hand to receive further instructions from him once Potter had sacrificed himself!

The renewed blossom of hope that there might still be a reason for all of this stimulated my mind like tickling bubbles of champagne. My ebullience was so uplifting that I almost laughed out loud when I saw meek, plodding Neville Longbottom swing Gryffindor's sword in a graceful arc that sent Nagini's head flying through the air. I caught myself at the last minute and covered my opened mouth with my hand, as though stunned by the horror of it, when inside I was snickering, almost intoxicatedly, at the sight of blood the colour and consistency of crude oil pouring forth from the snake's severed neck.

The headmaster's office. I have to get there.

Almost as soon as that conclusion seized my brain and forced some sobriety back over my senses, I hastily pushed it aside. Somehow in the middle of the chaos with the snake, Harry Potter's body had gone missing. Hagrid was yelling his head off, asking where the boy had gone as the Dark Lord screamed his fury at the loss of his serpentine servant.

Could Potter have somehow been alive this whole time after all? I don't see how, I mused as I ducked to avoid a barrage of centaur arrows while surrounding myself with a three hundred and sixty degree Shielding Charm. Stranger things have happened tonight. Seeing Longbottom finally live up to his Gryffindor Sorting, which I only thought would happen when Hell froze over, makes me think anything's possible.

Apparently I wasn't the only one harbouring the insane notion that Potter could have managed to outwit death for the eleventh or twelfth time. The idea had spurred the castle defenders to take up arms again, their courage buoyed by the arrival of the Forest and village reinforcements. On the other hand, the disappearance of his enemy's corpse along with the gruesome demise of Nagini seemed to have finally pushed the Dark Lord to the brink of madness. Any attempt to appear as a collected, in control champion was gone. He was now lashing out at everything within range, firing off red stunners and deadly green curses in such a multitude that I couldn't even follow them with my eyes to see what damage they were inflicting and on whom. I decided at that moment that the best and most helpful thing I could do was to just stay alive, and to keep as many others alive as I could manage.

Still crouched near to the ground, I enveloped myself in yet another Disillusionment Charm and attempted to creep away from the epicentre of the fighting. I knew this invisibility spell had nowhere near the perfection of the others I'd performed earlier in the night. I was simply too tired. However, it seemed to serve me well enough. In the mass chaos, no one seemed to pay any attention to my undoubtedly shimmering and hazy outline.

I'd hoped to withdraw to the side and then attack the Death Eaters on their flank, but the tumbling tide of everyone rushing away from the riled centaurs and giants had forced me to push along into the castle with everyone else to save myself from being trampled underfoot, like several other Death Eaters I noted who were too slowed by their pride to get out of the way. The panicked flow continued all the way into the Great Hall, where the ancient and noble room immediately began to play host to a battle more ferocious than anything in the school's thousand-year history.

Still scrambling low to the ground to stay out of range of most of of the barrage, I squinted through the frantic fray for an opening to either help my true allies or hinder the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord was barely visible in the centre of the room, swirling like a dervish as he struck out at anyone who dared approach him. However, for every one assaulter he managed to throw back, two rushed forward to take their place. Half of me felt like a sorry coward, crouching against the wall in hiding, but the part of me that had helped keep me alive over the past eighteen years knew it would be stupid to reveal myself when almost everyone in the room wanted me dead for one reason or another. So I continued my covert observation, leaping at a chance to shoot a Shielding Charm at Filius when rushed past me to descend on Dolohov and grabbing the joyous opportunity to lockup Greyback's limbs as Ronald Weasley and Longbottom dashed forward recklessly to attempt to bring down the powerful werewolf themselves.

Screams of terror and ferocious battle cries echoed off the stone walls. The light from the torches scattered around the Hall appeared to grow dimmer as the magical sky above lightened slowly from dove grey to a hazy silver splashed around the edges with rose. One roar of ripping fury drowned out the rest as the Dark Lord blasted Minerva, Kingsley, and Horace away from him with his arms outstretched to the sides, his head thrown back in anguish as though he were being crucified. I was just able to make out the source of his rage when I spied Bellatrix on her stomach across the Hall from me, almost looking directly at where I crouched with dull, dead eyes.

I leapt to my feet and waved away my Disillusionment Charm. Bellatrix was only one of many Death Eaters dead or being buried under an assault of at least three on one. I knew it in my heart then that this was the end. The Dark Lord would fall, and I wanted to be there standing tall and recognisable when it happened.

A pair of seventh-year Ravenclaw girls, who had been hunched over an unconscious friend to protect her with their own bodies, gasped in surprise and terror as I flickered into view only a few paces away. I threw out a string of spells to the side at them, to both awaken their companion and to shield all three of them, as I started to cross the Great Hall to face the Dark Lord myself. Minerva, her face a mess of bloody gashes and her left arm dangling uselessly at her side, was tottering to her feet nonetheless and looked ready to launch herself back on him. I would be damned if she stood alone when she did.

However, everyone's progress was frozen in place by a revelation far more impressive than my own. Potter had thrown aside his Invisibility Cloak and was standing before the Dark Lord, very much alive and well. Everyone's cries of surprise and joy, including my own, were cut off instantly as Potter and the Dark Lord began to circle each other around the Hall, wands raised and eyes locked, each daring the other to make the first move.

I stood in stunned silence with everyone else as I listened to Potter confront his nemesis for the last time. I sighed with silent understanding when the boy mentioned Horcruxes. It made complete sense now. How else could the Dark Lord have harboured such a certainty of his immortality? The plural usage of the word gave me pause; I'd never heard of anyone in the past creating more than a single Horcrux. I wondered how many there had been, and how they had been destroyed …

Ah. Of course. The diary that had opened the Chamber of Secrets. The ring that had carried the curse leading to Professor Dumbledore's death. That diadem Draco had so foolishly allowed to be consumed by Fiendfyre, in his poor ignorance. Perhaps even the snake, Nagini, who had been placed under such extreme protection earlier that night, until the Dark Lord had falsely believed Potter to be dead. Potter, the hunter of his precious Horcruxes. I had to hand it to both Professor Dumbledore and the boy. I had never guessed for a moment the nature of their secretive quest. I wondered how much Avrille might have known, from that night Professor Dumbledore had sent her on her own dangerous mission. Hopefully it wouldn't be long until I could ask her myself.

The Dark Lord and Potter continued to pace in a wide orbit around the Hall. Most of the conversation I could follow, probably far better than anyone else in the room besides the two engaged in it. My mind was still wandering slightly, both from exhaustion and from inevitable academic curiosity regarding all of the fantastic events and revelations of the night, when my attention was brought uncomfortably back to the almost silent room when Potter mentioned my name. Every pair of eyes besides Potter's, including the burning scarlet of the Dark Lord's, found me out then, as Potter declared truthfully that I had never been the Dark Lord's man. It was only the shock Potter gave him, recounting how I had been the one to kill Professor Dumbledore on the headmaster's own orders, that distracted the Dark Lord from murdering me with his baneful glare.

"You foolish child!" the Dark Lord spat. "It was Draco Malfoy who killed Dumbledore, not Snape! In your blind hatred of them both, you only assumed Draco wouldn't have the gall to do it, and that Snape had instead!"

Potter finally broke his intense eyeing of the Dark Lord for a fraction of a second to look aside at me with a small smile. God, I hoped the boy knew what the hell he was doing.

"No. Snape did kill Dumbledore, and on Dumbledore's orders like I already said," Potter explained, slowly and with extra emphasis as though speaking to a first-year student. "Snape's wife made him promise that you'd never find out he was the one to kill Dumbledore, even though Dumbledore wanted him to, to give him a clean, dignified death," another flick of his green eyes to mine, "so Snape modified the memories of everyone on the tower that night, including Draco, to convince him that he had killed the headmaster, both to keep his promise and to save Draco from your punishment when you learned he'd failed you. Snape was the one who did it, just as Dumbledore had wanted."

"So … it should have been Severus that I killed tonight …" The Dark Lord burned me through with another one of his malevolent gazes, his vertical slit pupils trailing slowly from right to left to keep me in view as he still circled the room, facing off Potter. "That is something I can soon remedy, as soon as I take care of you!"

"But killing Snape now won't do anything," Potter declared with a smirk. "It never would have done anything. Unfortunately, Dumbledore's plan didn't go exactly as he'd hoped. Even though Snape was the one to kill him, he wasn't the one to ultimately defeat him. Draco Malfoy got onto the tower first that night and disarmed Dumbledore, becoming the master of the Elder Wand unawares."

"So none of your stupid explanation matters, except to do me the favour of telling me Severus has been betraying me this whole time and I should have killed him years ago! Draco is already dead! I killed him myself, hours ago, making me the rightful master of the Elder Wand in the end!"

A quiet wail of pure pain undercut Potter has he started to reply. On the other side of the Hall from me, I saw Narcissa Malfoy fall onto her knees with her hands covering her mouth. Lucius was beside her, holding fast to her convulsing shoulders as he also bowed his head with his face contorted with grief. Even though there had to have been little doubt in either of their minds by now that Draco was gone, having the Dark Lord declare the murder so publicly and joyously was beyond cruel, even for him. Knowing there was nothing I could do right now, besides waiting to live or die depending on who won this final face-off, I watched the Malfoys' sorrowful display while Potter continued his explanation. Apparently, despite it all, the Elder Wand's full power still remained out of the Dark Lord's grasp. Potter had disarmed Draco weeks ago when he escaped Malfoy Manor. All that remained was to see if this Elder Wand would allow itself to be used against its own true master.

The answer came swiftly and decisively. As the first fingers of dawn stretched through the windows of the Great Hall to cast a ray of heavenly fire across Harry Potter's face, the Dark Lord fell at his feet, slain by his own rebounding killing curse. A searing, scorching pain, the most agonising thing I'd felt since the Dark Lord subjected me to the Cruciatus Curse three years ago, flared up in the region of my left forearm before subsiding into a pulsing throb.

It was the most glorious pain I had ever experienced in my life.

The Hall erupted into a symphony of screams, most of them stemming from ecstatic joy, but there were several of terror from the few Death Eaters still on their feet. There was a rush for the doors to escape. A few of them actually managed, for most of those in the Hall were too overjoyed by the sight of the Dark Lord's corpse to worry about anything else, but a few were smart enough to surrender immediately. I was one of them. Selwyn was another. The Malfoys didn't surrender so much as simply refuse to move or care at all about what was happening around them.

I whispered a hurried message to Avrille into the tip of my wand, declaring the Dark Lord's death and that I was safe, before tossing it down onto the cobblestones and falling to my knees with my hands clasped behind my head. My silver panther bounded through the doors to the Entrance Hall just as a squad of Aurors rushed through it. It had only been a few seconds since the Dark Lord had fallen, but the Ministry was already remobilising. I had slightly hoped that Potter's grand speech would have been enough to clear me of all guilt and suspicion. Unfortunately this was the real world, not a story.

Selwyn had been watching me curiously on and off during the entire time the Dark Lord and Potter were exchanging verbal barbs, and now that he saw me waiting for the Aurors in complete submission, he immediately followed suit, throwing aside his wand and dropping to his knees with his hands held out in plain sight. I was surprised when he tossed me a curt nod of approval before the sight of him was blocked by an Auror running to secure him.

A few of my former colleagues had been attempting to approach me through the celebratory chaos. Horace, his emerald pyjamas, torn and bloody, stopped after a few paces with his watery eyes wide in shock as a pair of unknown Ministry workers took one look at my Death Eater robes and hauled me none too gently to my feet. I sucked in a sharp breath as the one on my left pressed too hard on the tender spot the fading Dark Mark had left on my arm. Horace sputtered beneath his walrus moustache and turned in silent questioning to Minerva, who had also seemed to want to approach me, before being stopped by a very firm-looking Madam Pomfrey holding out a sling for the acting-headmistress's broken arm. Everyone else in my general area, students being fawned over by terrified parents, aloof, pawing centaurs, and shell-shocked house-elves, for the most part, only spared me confused, wary glances as they looked on at my plight. It seemed no good deed really did go unpunished.

As one Ministry lackey secured my hands behind my back while the other retrieved my castoff wand, their Auror-in-Charge approached me. Oh wonderful. Wasn't this just my blasted luck.

"Severus Snape," Auror Dawlish stated in his slow, overly thoughtful voice, "you are under arrest for the murder of Albus Dumbledore."

"Are you serious, John?" I scoffed in scathing disbelief as one of his minions checked the security of my bonds. "When the hell did you get here? Did you even hear anything Potter just said?"

Dawlish's chiselled features flushed with anger, all the way from his neck shadowed with stubble to his wiry grey hair, at my casual use of his given name. I don't think he wanted any of his subordinates to know he'd ever been on a first-name basis with a purported traitor.

"You're not the one asking the questions here, Death Eater," Dawlish fumed, grabbing me roughly by the arm and forcing me to start walking towards the open Hall doors. I glanced back over my shoulder, but no one appeared to be leaping to my defence. Potter was nowhere in sight, probably buried underneath a mountain of well-wishers. The only one still paying my embarrassing removal any heed was Minerva, though she remained a prisoner of Madam Pomfrey's ministrations. Madam Pomfrey was busy trying to dab some wound-closing ointment on the gashes covering Minerva's face as the Head of Gryffindor kept bobbing left and right to watch my escort from the Hall over the matron's shoulder.

"Because of your well-known, documented Death Eater activities, your innocence can only be proven in a court of law," Dawlish continued brusquely as we stepped out into the demolished Entrance Hall. His refusal to even acknowledge the unbelievable events that had just taken place made me fairly sure he had missed the entire thing. He then began to recite my rights.

"You are allowed to remain silent in questioning, though it may be detrimental to your defence if you later rely on information at trial that you did not willingly put forth during interrogation. This information can be used against you by the prosecution. Be aware that you have the right to refuse Veritaserum. You also have the right to request Veritaserum, though any truthful answers you give under the influence of a potion do not necessarily guarantee a dismissal of charges. You have the right to the counsel of a solicitor, and to have one present with you during all questioning. If you cannot retain one, one will be assigned to you at the discretion of the Wizengamot. You may waive or invoke these rights at any time, beginning immediately. Do you understand these rights as I have relayed them to you?"

It was obvious from the barely contained mirth in his tone that he had been waiting a very long time to deliver that speech to me. After all, the investigation into Professor Dumbledore's death had been halted almost as soon as it had begun last July when the Dark Lord infiltrated the Ministry. As one of the most loyal and law-abiding members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, dealing with the corruption in the Ministry over the past year must have been almost as difficult for him as me trying to maintain a level of normalcy in my school.

"I understand," I replied with forced civility, "and I am invoking them now. I demand to see my solicitor, Julius Barrow, immediately."

"Your solicitor will be brought to your cell at the Ministry," Dawlish replied coolly. I rolled my eyes.

We were now halfway down the school's churned-up lawn. I probably should have let Dawlish know the enchantments on the castle had been broken hours ago, meaning he could have just Disapparated with me from the Great Hall, but I didn't feel like doing him any favours. I also wasn't in a hurry to be incarcerated and was appreciating the few minutes of fresh-smelling, morning air. The crunching of gravel behind me told me without looking that Dawlish's two aides were still following us, probably with their wands held out at my back. I suppose I should have been flattered that they believed I needed three qualified lawmen to subdue me.

The moment we passed through the school's warped gates, Dawlish spun with his arm linked through mine. We Disapparated from the field of battle to appear in the middle of a short, unfamiliar hall. In front of me was a brick wall. On either side, two well-lit cells stood, each of a surprisingly comfortable size, but of course behind a floor-to-ceiling spread of iron bars. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw the two members of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol had Apparated here as well and had moved to stand on either side of a reinforced steel door behind me.

Dawlish used his wand to open the cell door on our left. He shoved me roughly through with a hand on my back, making me stumble and almost crack my jaw on a simple, white metal bed frame. As I regained my balance and composure, I heard the unforgiving slam of metal bars behind me.

"Back up to the doorway and place your hands through the opening," Dawlish ordered with no emotion. I followed his direction, seeing that there was a section cut out of the centre of the vertical bars, also lined with iron and the size of a thick hardbound book. I wasn't sure of the point of it, since it looked like I could probably slip an entire arm and shoulder between any of the bars before me, but I did as I was told nevertheless. Dawlish removed my restraints and allowed me to step away. Moving slowly so he wouldn't think I was attempting to harm him, I reached out and touched what should have been the empty air between two of the cell's bars. My hand met with invisible resistance. Some sort of spell bound the space except for the cut-out in the door, allowing air and sound to pass through, but nothing else. It seemed the iron bars were merely a secondary means of confinement.

"Your solicitor will be summoned directly," Dawlish said, vanishing the ropes that had bound my wrists before pointing to a set of ghastly orange robes sitting folded at the foot of the bed. "You will change into those in the meantime. Your current … garments … are to be processed as evidence."

Dawlish turned his back to me purposefully. Apparently "the meantime" meant right now. Biting my cheek and shaking my head at the ridiculousness of the entire situation after everything else I'd gone through that night, I stripped out of my Death Eater robes. As I pulled off the leather armour, a bit of a struggle considering how sweat had soaked through the fabric lining and caused it to stick to me almost everywhere, I couldn't stop a smile from creeping across my lips. Pulling my left arm free didn't reveal a fading Dark Mark on my skin. There was nothing there at all. The Mark was truly and completely gone, forever.

It was in a slightly better mood that I re-dressed myself in the scratchy linen of a prisoner. At least the undergarments provided had been of a regular cotton. Thank heaven for small favours.

I cleared my throat when I'd finished. Dawlish motioned for me to step back into a corner. He and his two associates entered the cell, the guards to collect my castoffs into a bag they sealed with purple tape and Dawlish to run his hands over my body to search it. In my sapped and still slightly giddy state of mind, I was tempted to taunt Dawlish with the comment that I hadn't received so much close attention in almost a year, but I wisely kept my mouth shut. When he and the others were finished, they locked me back up and left me alone.

I dropped onto the edge of the bed and ran my hands over my face. The bed's springs had squeaked in feeble protest under the application of my weight, and I could feel the poke of the metal coils underneath the flimsy mattress. I didn't really care. I was so tired at the moment, I would have gladly curled up on the cold cement floor. Raising my face with my hands still pressed over my mouth and nose, I took in more of my surroundings. The cell was painted solid white and perhaps ten paces across in each direction, most likely king-sized as far as Ministry cells went. I must have been considered one of their most valuable prisoners to receive such secluded and extravagant accommodations. I wasn't surprised I hadn't been brought to Azkaban, since a new system of security hadn't been established yet to replace the Dementors, though I was certainly grateful for it all the same. Along with the bed, a desk (or rather, a ledge of solid steel jutting out from the wall) and a chair, bolted to the floor, were my cell's only other furnishings. A curtain pulled across a doorframe to the left of the desk area denoted, thankfully, a semi-private lavatory.

I dropped my hands down to my lap and stared at them in the overly bright light. My fingers were trembling slightly, no matter how much I tried to keep them steady. I was probably starving and dehydrated, though I felt the inclination for neither food nor drink. I turned my head all the way to the left to look more closely at the "window" positioned there. Being in the depths of underground London, I knew the scene I was viewing of pastel orange and blue sunrise over a sweeping field of wildflowers was completely manufactured. What really got me was the bars. For some insane reason, someone had installed iron bars over the fake window.

Looking upon the utter inanity in front of me, I started to laugh. Within moments I was laughing so hard, I had to bury my face in the flat pillow beside me so any guards listening in from the outer hallway wouldn't think I was completely mad on top of being a murderer. As hard as I tried, I simply couldn't stop laughing. At some point the laughs became mixed with sobs, but still I carried on until every single last ounce of energy and pain I'd been hanging onto desperately was either laughed or cried out into the damp pillow.

When I finally couldn't force another gasp of mournful mirth without risking passing out, I flipped over on the bed and gazed up at the cracked plaster ceiling with my hands behind my head and an invincible smile still on my face. Even though at the moment I was imprisoned here, locked up against my will, this morning I had been set free.

For the first time ever in my life, I was free.

Author's Note: Professor Dumbledore's line of quoted dialogue comes directly from the chapter, "The Prince's Tale" inHarry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. No copyright infringement is intended.